The Blood Mirror
Page 35And that was the cost to join this company. What made them fearsome was the totality of their dedication, their readiness to pay all one could pay.
But in return, they bought a life that mattered.
Even a slave girl from the far reaches of the empire could matter.
Yes, her soul breathed, yes.
It was not that these heroes hadn’t failed; it was that they had: all of them, sooner or later, in public or private. They were heroes despite their failures, for they had striven with their whole hearts toward the light. The Blackguard was strong because it didn’t feel threatened by those failures. This was a company that would live in the light.
And by some grace, Teia didn’t think how she would be a spy. She soaked up the light of the dawn, and the light of clear purpose and bedrock devotion. She only wished Kip and the rest of the squad could share this with her.
Gavin Greyling had stepped forward to be the seventh and final speaker.
“I remember Gavin Guile.”
“Gavin Guile was never a Blackguard,” Fisk snapped. “Great though he was. Is, High Lady. My apologies. Pick another, Greyling.”
“Neither you nor even Commander Ironfist had the authority to name a promachos,” Fisk said. “And though our esteemed emperor held that position, he surrendered it back to the Spectrum many years ago. You’re embarrassing—”
“Your pardon, sir, but it was not meant as a title, but instead as a Blackguard name that, in accordance with our best traditions, reflects the essence of the man. Earned hard and given true, it is not our way to strip a Blackguard—even an honorary one—of his name if he hasn’t forfeited the right to it by acting dishonorably. Are you suggesting Gavin Guile acted dishonorably?” Gavin Greyling was pushing it, but he did so with such glee it was hard to be mad at him.
“Watch your tongue, son.” Even for Commander Fisk, apparently.
“Yessir.”
Commander Fisk hesitated, looked around, and pursed his lips. “No one speaks of this. This circle is closed,” he barked. “Go.”
With no small amount of swagger, Gavin Greyling said, “I remember Gavin fucking Guile, who won the False Prism’s War, who outwitted the Thorn Conspirators and ended the Red Cliff Uprising. Gavin Guile, who brought low pirate kings and bandit lords, who ended the Blood Wars with his wits and one deadly wave of his hand, who brought justice to the Seven Satrapies. Gavin Guile, who hunted wights and criminals, who built Brightwater Wall in less than a week, who aborted the births of gods, destroyed at least two bane, and killed a god full fledged at Ruic Head. Gavin Guile, who faced a sea demon and lived, saving all the people of Garriston and the Blackguard, too. Gavin Guile, who sank Pash Vecchio’s great ship Gargantua with a rat. Gavin Guile, who armed us for war and gave the Blackguard the seas entire with our sea chariots and hull wreckers. Gavin Guile, heart of our heart, our Promachos, the one who goes before us in war, who came and conquered and will come again.”
The Blackguards couldn’t help it; they cheered.
They’d already been out looking for him on the skimmers, Teia’d heard. Sometimes on duty, sometimes off. And they would never give up. “For such a man, I would die twice,” Gavin Greyling said.
But Teia was looking at Karris. Her head was bowed, and Teia saw her swallow once, hard. But when Karris opened her eyes, her face was clear, with no hint of crying there. She nodded regally to the Blackguards.
“Thank you,” Karris said.
Commander Fisk said, brusquely, “We’ve all got duties awaiting us this day, nunks. We are a storied company, but we are also slaves, nunks, though some of us are slaves with ears unshorn. We serve a term, almost like indentured servants, but our term may be extended at will by our commander, and our eventual retirement may be requested, but granting that is the commander’s decision alone. Even if you save the money to buy out your papers, your commander need not accept them. We are honored slaves, but slaves. For warrior-drafters as we all are, there is no higher calling, no greater service, no possibility to rise higher than this shining company. But our lives are short and hard and lived at the direction of others.
“Teia, having taken vigil to reflect on your life and this calling, have you selected a patron to whose example you would aspire?”
“Yes,” Teia said. “I choose Commander Ironfist, who alone silenced the artillery at the Battle of Garriston, saving countless lives, who led this company with honor and bravery, and in the end was expelled for no good reason whatsoever. Ironfist reminds me that we join the Blackguard to serve, not for our own gain. He reminds me to be as vigilant of those who wield orders as those who wield swords.”
There was some quiet muttering in response to that. Teia thought it was in agreement—no one liked how Ironfist had been discarded and had then disappeared, though that was surely the only safe thing for him to do—but frankly, Teia didn’t care what they thought of her choice.
After a moment, Commander Fisk nodded, letting it go. “Well, then, if you would bind yourself and your honor to this lauded company, repeat after me.” And Teia followed him, echoing phrase for phrase: “I, Adrasteia Gallaea’s daughter.”
“I, Adrasteia Gallaea’s daughter.”
“Do swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to High Lady Karris White—” Terror, shambles! Teia forgot the words!
But Fisk prompted her gently, “And her successors, according to the law.”
“And her successors, according to the law.” Whew.
“I will protect the Prism with my life, and in the last extremity…”
“I will protect the Prism with my life, and in the last extremity…”
“I will protect the Seven Satrapies from him or his successors.”
“I will protect the Seven Satrapies from him or his successors.”
“So help me,” he hesitated to give proper reverence, “God.”